Who Stole My Cheese Monologue

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The midnight sky could be seen through my window as my curious 10-year-old mind questioned this well-established fact of darkness at an hour such as then. Tiptoeing to my family’s little nook of books I could hear the echoes of my family's snores through the hallways. When I reached our little nook my eyes searched for my journal as well as the book I watched my father read for school. "Found it!" I cheered then quickly covered my mouth while listening for any warning bells of an awoken parent. When confirmed that the coast was clear, I picked up "Who Stole My Cheese?" by Ken Blanchard. My 10-year-old eyes raced through pages until the kitchen light erupted and consumed all the darkness that surrounded me, my father's silhouette illuminated as he looked at me unimpressed with my guilty looking eyes. "What are you doing?" he asked I sheepishly handed him his book. "Nala, it is almost 3 o'clock in the morning, its bedtime." I ducked my head and trudged myself back into bed. …show more content…

In ninth grade the smallest book I would ever deem readable was a 400-page publication, however, during High School, I established a perception that quantity at no time extended quality. My favorite books went from being prodigious literature to quaint small books. Something captivated me about their ideologies, themes, structure, and wording. The books meaning and characters stayed with me more. The characters became my friends especially in middle school and high school when my social life became absolute

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